


JAOA: Stage Five

by BlackRose (darthneko)



Series: JAOA [19]
Category: Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gen, Teacher-Student Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2001-11-09
Updated: 2001-11-09
Packaged: 2017-10-25 21:29:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,545
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/274981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darthneko/pseuds/BlackRose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Small surprises in plain sight.</p>
            </blockquote>





	JAOA: Stage Five

**JAOA: Stage Five  
Year of the Republic 25,002**

* * *

The sabers hissed and crackled as they met, the air thick with the sharp hot scent. Anakin disengaged, flowing into the next position of the form with slow grace.

The block came a second too late, low and clumsy. Anakin pulled the force from the strike easily, letting the blades rest against each other without pressing. "Next position," he called, prompting, letting a heartbeat pass before slipping into the movement.

Swearing did not normally accompany katas but Anakin's padawan had kept up a breathless litany of phrases in different languages which had made the Jedi Knight recalculate how much time the boy had spent in spaceport bars. Now a low, growled curse in badly pronounced Wookie punctuated the lack of saber clash as Han moved to block and missed.

Anakin stopped his saber a hairs breadth from the boy's throat, letting him wince and feel the heat of the blade. "You can do better than that," he encouraged.

Sweat had spiked the boy's hair into a short sharp bush of black, the tail of his braid jaunting out at an angle and a flush riding high on his cheeks. Lips pressed thin, he accepted the quiet rebuke with a sullen sort of silence. Sighing, Anakin opened his mouth to correct the boy again.

The wave of Force swelled out without direction. Fueled with embarrassed anger, it physically pushed the blade of the Knight's saber back. Startled, Anakin let it.

The boy switched off his lightsaber, apparently oblivious to what he had done. Raking a hand through his sweat dampened hair, he sighed. "Are we done?"

Anakin blinked, then stepped back, bringing his own lightsaber back up. "No. Fourth form again, defense. From the start."

Han groaned, the sound one that only a tired and rebellious teenage boy might manage. Switching his saber back on, he moved into the first position, the multilingual stream of curses beginning again as the saber blades met in a shower of sparks.

Anakin let his attack flow with leisurely speed and the boy met it - clumsy, too high, overcompensating for the difference in their heights. "Don't overreach," he instructed, swinging into the next position. "Let me come to you."

"...Thrice damned... dirt eating... filthy... spawn of a Hutt..." Each impact of blade against blade engendered the crackle of sparks and a new curse, gasped into the space of completion of one motion and the breathless start of another.

"Language, padawan," Anakin chided gently. Han flinched from another blow, gamely throwing his own saber up between them in a move that lacked any finesse but did, somehow, manage to perform the required block.

"Teesa rod chova nota," was the answering curse amidst the clash of a glancing deflect that carried the boy through a mistaken thrust.

Anakin stepped back, letting Han find his feet and get once again into position before continuing the exercise. "Teesa rodda choppa nota," he corrected, letting his blow hesitate until Han found the right counter. More crackles, but his own voice carried over his padawan's cursing. "Who did you learn that dialect from? A Jundland waste Jawa trader?"

"Chuva mad du shagee," was Han's snarled reply as the next position brought their sabers together again and the boy ducked back from the resulting crash, expression twisted in a tight grimace.

"Chuba madda du shag kee," Anakin corrected automatically. "Don't bother with that one. It's perfectly true."

"What?" The sharp hissing hum of sabers in a near miss, a block fumbled, and Anakin deactivated his blade as it sizzled past Han's defense and towards the boy's chest. "Sith!" Silence descended in the wake of Han's blade powering down, broken by the clatter as the boy threw it to the ground, lips pressed tight and rebellious.

"Cheska!" Pulling back from the ready stance, Anakin shook his head slightly. "Pay attention, Han. You can't let yourself be distracted."

Han glared, then turned and deliberately spat to one side. "Doesn't matter," he growled. "I never get it right."

"I didn't say that you were doing the form wrong," Anakin sighed. Bending to pick up Han's lightsaber, he extended it to the boy. After a moment Han took it gingerly, looking decidedly unhappy. "I want to see you do it again." Holding up his hands, palm outward, he backed away. "Without me."

Han hesitated. "Fourth form, the force of offense, padawan," Anakin prompted. Han sighed, switching on his saber and dropping into the first position.

Alone, running through the motions in a stream without the interference of an opponent, the boy had a certain amount of skill. He could, individually, perform each of the positions accurately. Watching him, Anakin considered. Han's temper for the exercise was fraying, in no small part due to his continued failures.

There were flashes of ability that would come through, but for the most, the boy seemed to be his own worst enemy, ready to declare a position a failure without even completing it, flinching from the clash of blades.

Han finished the form, breath puffing through his lungs as he lowered his saber. Dark eyes darted to Anakin, the set of the boy's jaw speaking eloquently of how braced he was to hear whatever correction and reprimand was forth coming.

Anakin resolved to have a long talk with the primary saber instructor for Han's year group.

"You have the form down," he said. Han started, drawing himself up hesitantly. Anakin grinned slightly, walking towards him. "Practice wouldn't hurt, but it never does, for any of us."

Han switched off his lightsaber again, stretching his shoulders back. "Are we done?" There was hope in his voice.

"Not quite." Han sagged with the words and Anakin chuckled, reaching out to briefly brush one slim shoulder. "Soon," he promised.

Han groaned when Anakin took a training blindfold from his belt, shaking out the heavy fabric. Anakin smiled wryly at the spatter of curses as he reached around the boy's head to fasten the blindfold in place. "padawan, we're going to have to do something about your use of language."

"Yes, Master," Han replied, but the heavy tone said as much as volumes of swearing did. Anakin grinned, assured that his padawan could not see the expression through the blindfold.

Stepping back, he nodded to himself. "I want you to do the fourth form again," he said firmly. "Offense only. Four times, completely through. When you're done we'll call this session finished."

Han's protesting squawk was cut off by the hiss of the door as Anakin stepped through it. Reaching back, the Jedi Knight could feel the waves of irritated defiance rolling off his padawan. He projected strongly, knowing the boy could hear him through the Force between them. [Four times, padawan. I suggest you start.]

The yelled curse did not penetrate the heavy doors, but it did echo through Anakin's mind. He shook his head, suppressing a smile, and strode to the entrance of the observation level.

Obi-Wan looked up as he entered, one brow aloft in startled amusement. "What did you tell the boy, Anakin? I haven't heard language like that in quite awhile."

"Set him to doing the form." Anakin took a position beside Obi-Wan at the railing, leaning against it as he took in the view below. "Watch him while he does it, Master. I think he might surprise you."

Down on the training floor Han was still swearing, a steady monologue of offenses against Anakin, his immediate family, his ancestors and descendants. Anakin shook his head, suppressing a smile. [The forms, padawan. The sooner you begin, the sooner finished.]

Han jumped as though stung, the curses falling silent as the boy hunched his shoulders slightly. He didn't, Anakin was pleased to see, reach to remove the blindfold. Instead, the boy sighed, the blade of his lightsaber springing forth with a deep hum. Centering himself hesitantly on the floor, he began the form.

"He does have some skill," Obi-Wan commented quietly. Anakin nodded, eyes focused on the boy below.

"Just watch."

Through one form, the ending position identical to the beginning. Han's movements were slightly clumsier than before, his balance thrown from the lack of sight. Anakin nodded to himself, leaning his elbows on the rail.

The second form was better, equivalent to what he had done when not blindfolded. One position flowed into the other, easier with repetition, gaining assurance. Anakin leaned forward, intent, as Han began the third repetition.

Slash and whirl, a partial lunge, whirl again and strike. It was a fluid motion now, without the hesitation of before, the boy's young face smoothing of emotion as he went through the positions without pause. The third repetition flowed into the fourth, quick and easy, a flawless spin.

Anakin let the smile come forth, glancing towards his Master. Obi-Wan nodded slowly, considering, grey eyes tracking the figure below as Han went through the final repetition, movements now smooth and easy, perfect studies of the positions of the form. "He lacks confidence," the Jedi Master sighed softly. "Even when the position is done correctly..."

"He flinches," Anakin interjected. "He'll block the blow," he raised his hands, bringing the palms together to demonstrate the motion, "but then pull back." One hand jerked away, allowing the other to continue forward. "It throws the attack off, but not enough."

"It's careless," Obi-Wan said firmly. "Too much haste, cutting the follow through short."

Anakin shook his head. "No, Master. Forgive me, but I don't think it's just haste." He glanced down, where Han, unbidden, had begun the form again. The boy's face beneath his cropped brush of dark hair and the fold of the blindfold was relaxed, the rebellion drained from the set of his mouth and jaw as he spun and twisted, each movement carried out with a precision that took nothing away from the grace of it. "It's what you said - confidence. Look at him. He knows the forms, he knows them _well_. But put him against an opponent..."

"He expects to loose," Obi-Wan said slowly.

Anakin slapped his hand against the railing, frown twisting his expression. "Visualize your victory," he snapped quietly, the words drawn from lessons. "The Force will guide your hand if you know the outcome."

Obi-Wan sighed, running a hand through his hair. "You certainly don't have an easy task."

The younger man hesitated, then let the tension drain away from his shoulders. The smile slipped back into place, a little wry as he glanced at his former master. "And training up an insecure boy who didn't even know the basics was any better?"

Obi-Wan just shook his head, turning back to watch the training floor as Han slid through the motions of the form. He watched for a time, eyes narrowed, a thoughtful frown marring his brow. "Anakin," he said at last, "what is the boy wearing?"

Blinking slightly, Anakin glanced down. When he looked up again, it was with a confused glance at the older man. "His clothes. What do you mean?"

Sighing, Obi-Wan reached up, rubbing at the line between his brows. "Amidala's right," he commented. "You _do_ need a keeper. Let me have the boy tomorrow. I'll see he gets outfitted from stores, clean him up a bit. If he's going to be a padawan he ought to look like one."

"But..." Anakin swallowed the words at Obi-Wan's glance, flushing. "Yes, Master," he responded by reflex. "But really... I can take care of my own padawan..."

Obi-Wan clapped a hand to the younger man's shoulder, a sly smile breaking through to hover around his lips. "Don't worry," he said, laughter tinging the words. "We'll see your padawan is trained to take care of _you_." At Anakin's sputter the laughter broke free, echoing softly. "Enough, Ani. Go break the boy out of trance. And give him the rest of the day - better yet, take it yourself. Spend some time with him, find out what he likes to do besides cheat at sabacc."

"Yes, Master," Anakin repeated, sighing, but he reached up to cover Obi-Wan's hand with his own, squeezing. "Thank you," he added, softer.

The older man's answer was given in the pressure of his fingers, a brief shake, and then the hand was withdrawn. Anakin nodded, almost to himself, and turned to descend back to the training floor.

The hiss of the saber met his ears as he entered but the sound of the door did not startle his padawan, nor keep Han from moving into the next position, nor the next. Standing against the door, Anakin watched the boy's movements. Finally, as Han moved into the start of the form once again, he reached out with a tendril of Force, gently deactivating the boy's blade.

The silence rang against the ear after the hiss and hum of the saber's movements through the air. Han faltered momentarily but Anakin was there, silent reassurance in the threads of the training bond urging the boy on. The first position, silent saber held in hand, was awkward, the second less so. Anakin nodded to himself, satisfied. Unclipping his own saber, he stepped forward, falling into position before the boy.

Strike, feint, block and lunge, done in silent pantomime with deadened sabers. The Force vibrated softly between them, each move performed in quiet earnest, as though blade rang against blade. Han slid through the positions as though unknowing of his silent partner but Anakin could track the awareness in the change of his movements, the variation of position to counter a variance in Anakin's own. What had been the sterile performance of one, a rote learned form, became something alive in the mix of motion between two.

Only as the last position fell into place did Anakin break the form entirely, shifting his saber to one hand as he reached out, brushing the boy's shoulder with the other. "Han?"

Air exploded in a rush from the boy's lungs as he jerked, nearly falling. Hands scrambled at the blindfold, peeling it away, eyes blinking blearily at Anakin as they struggled to focus. "M... Master?"

Anakin smiled, reaching to steady the boy. "It's alright, Han. You dropped into trance."

"Oh." Han rubbed at his eyes, shaking his head. "I'm sorry. I didn't... I mean... what?"

"It's alright," Anakin repeated, smiling. Putting his hands on the boy's shoulders, he shook him slightly. "You did fine. Very well, in fact."

"I did?" Incredulous, Han glanced up at him, frowning as he tried to determine if the older man was jesting or not. "Really?"

"Yes," Anakin assured him. Grinning, he ruffled the boy's sweat dampened hair. "And that's all we'll do, today. Go change."

Han gave an exaggerated sigh of relief. "Yes sir!" He started to pull away, then paused, glancing back. "What then?" he asked, his expression plainly expecting a schedule of lessons.

Anakin chuckled. "Then I thought we might go into the city. I need to find a few things for Amidala, and you're welcome to come along. Would you like that?"

"Outside the temple?" Han stared at him for a moment, incredulous, then grinned. Anakin answered the expression, then reached to push the boy towards the door.

"Go on, padawan," he urged. "The sooner washed and changed, the sooner we can go."

[...to next stage]


End file.
